Do This in Memory of Me asks, what if saints answered your prayers?

I’m not talking about getting that pony you had fervently hoped for on your birthday, or having the cute barista at Starbucks finally respond to your entreaties. No. What if the actual saint responsible for delivering your particular category of wishes appeared to take a stab at meeting your needs?

Such is the delightful situation that confronts the precocious Genevieve, a 12-year-old growing up in Montreal in the 1960s and the centre of a new production, Do This in Memory of Me, making its world premiere tonight at La Cité Francophone in a joint venture by L’UniTheatre and Northern Light Theatre.

As the only girl in her large, religious family, Genevieve finds herself carrying more than her fair share of the housework, especially now that her mother has mysteriously disappeared and her father is tight-lipped about his wife’s whereabouts. Genevieve, a sweet and comical character, is a bit ticked at the way things are turning out, and she lets God know exactly how she feels in candid and personal conversations.

At the same time, Genevieve burns with her own desires; she is desperate to be the altar girl at the church, to ring bells and contemplate Latin, even though such a thing is verboten (she’s a girl, after all). When the boy normally tasked with that coveted responsibility also mysteriously disappears, Genevieve wonders if it’s a sign from God that things in her life are about to change.

Penned by Edmonton performer and playwright Cat Walsh, Do This in Memory of Me is a poignant look at the time of life when children become aware that adults actually don’t have all the answers, and that answers (just in general) can be quite difficult to come by. Through the disappearance of her mother and her friend, Genevieve is forced to confront the issue of why bad stuff happens, and to wonder whether or not God has a plan, or is just muddling about like the rest of us.

“To me, Genevieve is learning a lot about the nature of faith,” Walsh says of her new show, which is presented in both English and French on alternate nights. “When you’re a kid, you think that if a grown-up won’t tell you the answer, it’s because they are withholding it. But then you realize your parents are just people who don’t know all the answers.”

Walsh’s own faith journey began in her home in Ottawa, where she was raised by religious parents who attended the Catholic church. Saints were big in the Walsh home.

“I had lost something small and I remember my mom telling me to pray to St. Anthony for it to be returned,” recalls Walsh, 43, a fine arts grad from the bilingual University of Ottawa who came to Edmonton some 15 years ago, attracted by the arts scene. “I remember thinking how creepy would that be, and wondering, ‘What if someone did answer my prayer?’”

Ever since, Walsh has found herself fascinated by the veneration of saints and relics, and by the notion of the dead being able to speak.

“What I have taken away from my upbringing is the theatricality of the church,” she says. “Catholicism is incredibly theatrical. The idea of the incorrupt body of the saint … there is a kind of gruesomeness to it, and I mean that in the best possible way.”

Walsh’s work is often dark, and deals with scary subjects, including her recent short play, Blue Marty, which was part of The Mommy Monologues at the 2017 Skirts Afire festival. Her play The Laws of Thermodynamics was produced by Theatre Yes and received an Elizabeth Sterling Haynes nomination for Outstanding New Play. Walsh has also received Sterling nominations for her plays eleven-oh-four, Fifty Plays About Love and The Rhythm Method.

“I like to come back to the idea of the supernatural and the scientific world in my plays,” she says. “I love it when it’s scary, I love it when it’s not scary. A lot of my work asks, ‘Are we alone? What if we are, and what if we’re not?’ It all ties together in that way.”

Though her latest production is a very “sweet” play, says Walsh, it also has an edge.

“I can’t promise there aren’t any dead children in it because there are. So even though it’s one of my sweeter, happier plays, it’s still going to be creepy.”

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